


The Plans Don't Work

by Nevermakemeblue



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), And Then Some, Angst, Canon Typical Weirdness, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and deep deep denial, because of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:46:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermakemeblue/pseuds/Nevermakemeblue
Summary: Following their latest attempt to raze the town to the ground, the people of South Park decide it would be best for everyone involved to fit Kyle and Cartman with chips. From this point on, any thoughts of malice or violence towards the other will send an electric shock through the body. Unfortunately, technical difficulties are still a thing, and hate is not the only thing that can get a heart beating.





	1. Chapter 1

Kyle was fuming.

He could still feel the small bump at his temple where the doctors had gone in on him. If he rubbed his fingers in small circles, he could even feel the chip below, churning away at his brain. A part of him still couldn’t believe it was there, and they were lightyears away from getting any kind of acceptance from him.

The whole thing was just so fucking unfair. They hadn’t even told him it was going to happen. As far as Kyle knew, there had been Cartman, the comprehensive break down of Colorado’s telecommunications system, the bomb at the mayor’s office, and suddenly he was waking up in a hospital bed with a hole in his head. The sheets had scratched against his grazes, the sounds and smells all too familiar to him by now. 

“Bubby, you need to understand. You and Eric aren’t children anymore. Your games have real life consequences.”

“That’s right, Kyle. You’re going to be legal in less than six months. It’s time you learned to be responsible.”

He could hardly bear to look at them. His parents were looming over him with grim frowns etched into their faces. Somewhere in the corner, he could see the doctor lurking like the pervert creep he was. So Kyle kept his eyes averted and his cheeks sucked firmly inwards with a scowl. It was only the guttural yelling from across the hall of Cartman being told the same news that was keeping him from losing it altogether.

When he spoke, his words tasted like ash and burning paperwork.

“I was trying to stop him.”

“But you’re the one who showed him how to make the bomb didn’t you?”

“I didn’t actually think he would use it! That fucking ass…ARGH!” His skin jumped from his bones, and Kyle convulsed against the mattress. It was only for a split second, but all the same it tipped his anger over the edge again. “Are you kidding me?? How are you guys ok with this?”

His parents didn’t look the least bit remorseful. Instead they regrouped, pressing closer together in a united front.

“We gave you plenty of warnings, Kyle. You and Eric need to learn to empathise with each other.” His dad explained, as if this whole thing was normal. It was actually astounding.

“This is nuts.” Kyle said, but then the jolt came again, and Kyle couldn’t stop from crying out. “What the hell? I wasn’t even thinking about Cartman.”

The doctor finally saw fit to step in, eyeing him eagerly like a lab rat in a cage. Kyle felt his skin crawl all over again.

“The chip is mutual. In the event that either subject activates it, both will feel the effects.”

“What? Are you trying to kill me? Take it out!” He was yelling again. Fuck it. He had every right to.

That Cartman was talking shit about him again was no surprise. But if he was going to get a shock every time Eric Cartman was an asshole to him they’d both end up brain dead.

“Now now, son. No harm will come to you. It’s just a little prick.”

“A prick? It hurts goddammit-AARGH.” Kyle doubled over with shocks again.

Man _fuck_ this.

Wrenching the sheets away, Kyle made it as far as the door before his parents and the nurses restrained him. It was still far enough for him to scream and be heard. Cartman fired back just as loudly.

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH FATASS—”

“EAT ME JEW! – ARGH GOD DAMMIT!”

Amongst grappling and screaming, Kyle was forced back into bed. It was hours before either of them tired out, and even then the small jolts continued.

.

The next morning, Stan and Kenny were already at the bus stop when he arrived, hunched over Stan’s phone, dissecting whatever girl he had been most recently texting. On his approach, both of them looked up and their expressions dropped instantly.

“Dude.” Kyle hadn’t really thought about how he must look until he saw it reflected in their faces. Too busy grinding his teeth and failing not to plot Cartman or anyone else’s murder, he hadn’t slept a wink. The bruises and scratches from their latest brawl were still fresh on his worn-out cheeks. His jacket had been shredded along the arm in the explosion so instead, Kyle was wearing a tired hoody with washed out colours and a logo peeled beyond recognition. He hadn’t had time for a shower after the hospital. For the first time in years, he was wearing his hat again, the green one he’d ditched in elementary school.

Stan and Kenny didn’t give a shit about his clothes. He knew that. They probably cared that he looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a wood chipper though.

Kenny got over it first.

“You look pretty, Kyle.” He said, with a smirk that only widened when he was flipped off in reply. Stan at least had the decency to prolong his concern.

“So how did it go?”

“Absolutely fucking great man. You want to feel my skull?”

“Yes.” Kenny grinned reaching forward, exactly as Stan pulled a face with a disgusted “No.”

With Kenny’s grubby fingers poking at his temple, Kyle glowered at the ground. Only Stan noticed Cartman approaching.

“I’m here, assholes. Stop talking about stupid stuff.” His voice sounded rough with lack of sleep. Already, Kyle could feel the electricity prickling down his neck. His parents probably hadn’t realised how visceral his reaction to Cartman was. It’s not like he could just turn it off. “I know what you’re talking about fuckers. Just drop it.”

Looking up he was at least vindicated that Cartman was in no better shape than he was. Unfortunately, that only softened the spike of dislike until the idiot opened his mouth. Kyle had been brimming with anger all night. Now he could feel it spilling over.

“Drop it? This is your fault fatass! You’re the one who pissed off the mayor again.” Cartman glowered right back.

“It wouldn’t have been a problem if you’d just stayed out of it, Kyle. You couldn’t keep your nose out of it. Fucking typical.”

“You motherfu—ARGH!” Both of them jerked in pain at the buzzing. Stan and Kenny just watched them with the mild interest of someone observing an old game with slightly new rules. They both knew the chips would not change anything. At this rate, Kyle and Cartman wouldn’t make it through the week alive. Through a tight jaw and clenched fists, Kyle lowered his friend with a glare. “Can I talk to you for a sec.”

The snow crunched beneath them when Cartman followed him as he stomped away from the bus-stop, leaving some space between them and their friends. Cartman looked every bit as resentful as Kyle felt. When they were just out of ear shot, Kyle rounded on him. Forcing himself to stay calm, he pressed out words as if there was a boulder on his chest.

“Look, this isn’t going to work. We’re going to kill each other. Literally this time.” He growled. Cartman eyed him reluctantly. Kyle could see his guard coming up as it always did between them. “

You’re right.”

“So, we’re going to have to fix this.” He’d caught his interest. Bringing a hand to cup his chin, Cartman waited for him to speak. “Let’s just, you know, cool it for a bit.”

Cartman raised an eyebrow.

“Cool it?”

“Let’s stay away from each other.” He insisted, but Cartman just smiled mockingly, and all Kyle’s energy went to suppressing his thoughts on what a condescending fuck he was.

“Kyle, we have every class together. How are we going to do that?” There was that spike of annoyance again.

“I know! Just…” Deep breath, Kyle. “I’m just saying, for now if we can avoid talking... at least until they get over this and take these damn chips out.”

They could at least do that much. Their parents’ whims were mayflies. If they could ride this out, everyone would probably be over it in a week or two. No more chips. No more policing his thoughts.

“Can you at least manage that, fatass?” Kyle felt a spark travel up his arm. Right, he should probably drop the insult, although he really had thought that his friend would be over it by now.

Cartman’s eyes were ablaze with challenge, his lips twisting into a thrilled grin. Behind them, he could hear the bus approaching. Kenny and Stan had turned towards them, preparing to pull them back in. In the chilly air, it wasn't just Cartman's eyes that burned. His cheeks were warm, his breath came in hot puffs, and when he leaned forward, Kyle felt the heat crawl over him. 

“It’d be a pleasure to avoid you, Jew.” Kyle flushed. Along his arm, his skin still prickled with echoes of electricity. 


	2. Chapter 2

Despite any cynicism from their friends, Kyle and Cartman actually did quite well. They managed to successfully get through an entire morning of classes without so much as a word to each other. Admittedly, most of it had been sheer stubbornness to outlast Stan and Kenny’s reasonably low expectations. Neither of them had been shy about giving them barely an hour before they cracked. So yeah, a lot of it had been spite.

The rest of it was pretty much entirely down to Kyle, because Cartman had been a nightmare all fucking morning.

Kyle had always known that Cartman argued for arguments sake. Hell, he’d spent a solid three weeks rallying his bullshit flat earth theory just to piss Kyle off. That was another one that’d spiraled out of their control, overrunning the school with B-list rappers and flash floods. The cafeteria and sports hall had been out of commission for a month after that.

However, Cartman had never been as obvious as he was that day.

True to his word, he hadn’t said a thing to Kyle, yet somehow, without a word his way, Kyle had been subjected to all of Cartman’s regular scheduled bullshit by proxy. All morning, Kyle had watched him be a general dick to just about anyone who approached him. Suddenly Kyle found himself gritting his teeth over everything from grain harvest in Mussolini’s Italy to whether or not Bebe’s new shirt made her look like a ho. He’d never realised he had an opinion on 20th century Italian domestic policy until he found himself literally about to stab a guy over it. That guy being Cartman. Who fucking else?

But if Cartman was going to stick to his word (kinda) Kyle sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first to crack.  

So, he kept his mouth shut and let the time bomb tick away. Sadly, even he knew how hard that would be for him. That became apparent with the lunch bell when Kyle dropped to his seat in the courtyard. With the cafeteria food still tasting vaguely of mouldy sponges, most students had taken to bringing their own lunches. When Kyle made no move to retrieve one, Stan eyed him with a frown.

“Where’s your lunch dude?”

Tucking into his own food, Cartman was less concerned.

“He’s probably back on the syrup,” he said dismissively, but when he turned to Kyle his voice was sweet as candied cherries, “hey Kyle, I’m sure if you need something harder you could get it from Kenny’s folks.”

_Don’t reply._

“Dude, fuck you.”

_Just don’t._

“Ken, work with me here. If I don’t make fun of someone I’ll die.

_Fuck it._

“Leave him alone Cartman.” They all stopped. It was his first words to Cartman all day. Kyle made a point of ignoring the smug look on Kenny’s face. That was easy to do when Cartman’s smirk put the rest of them to shame. This is what he’d been waiting for all morning.

“I don’t think I will Kyle. What are you going to do about it?”

“Don’t. Fatass. I’m really not in the mood,” Kyle warned darkly.

They were in dangerous territory. Kyle’s blood was heating up; His skin was crawling already. Only the fear of the chip was keeping him from attacking all together.The doctor had been talking out his ass when he said it was harmless. With every passing second, Kyle could feel the chip like a permanently oncoming migraine. In contrast, Cartman had the nerve to look like he was actually enjoying himself. This fucker. Kyle should have known Cartman would use it to corner him. He’d probably weighed out the pros and cons and decided it was worth a shot to the head if it meant Kyle got one too.

It wasn’t going to happen. With a deep breath, Kyle looked away to the empty spot where his lunch should have been. Even if he hadn’t been too pissed that morning to remember it, he had no stomach for food right now. Swearing, he got to his feet.

“I’m not hungry.”

Without another word, he walked away.

The tap of hurried footsteps told him someone had come after him. Stan sidled up to him with a clap to his shoulder.

“Dude, are you sure you’re ok? You can have some of my lunch if you want?” Kyle laughed incredulously. It was cruel, but how did a guy just missed the point entirely like that. He sped up, to get away from Stan, from the situation altogether, he wasn't really sure. 

Stan just trotted after him. 

"Dude, Kyle!"

“God dammit,” he muttered to himself, “no I’m not ok Stan, when did I ever say I was ok?” He was snapping again. He really couldn’t help it, but watching Stan mask the hurt at his words just layered guilt on top of the clusterfuck that was his emotions that day.

They came to a stop. Out of sight, Kyle finally allowed himself a brief moment of weakness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, man. I can’t be near him but it’s not like I can avoid him either, not when he’s just going to be a dick to literally everybody. He made Butters cry, for fucks sake, just ‘cause he was bored.”

“Dude, it’s been like fifteen years, Butters should really know better by now. Besides, when have you ever given a shit about him?”

“I don’t… well I do, but it’s just…” Kyle sighed, rubbing his temple in utter impotent frustration, “you know I can’t just let him do whatever he wants man. He’d level the town in an hour.”

Stan listened to him talk with a look that made Kyle shift uncomfortably and only stumble over his words all the more. He'd seen it before. Occasionally, Kyle recognised that there was a theory building in Stan’s mind. He didn’t show it often, but when he did, Kyle watched it rise with every attempt to be spoken only to break at the shoreline when Stan inevitably chickened out.

This time was no different. Stan looked him over, opened his mouth to speak, but eventually changed his mind and looked away. Kyle didn’t question it. He wasn’t sure he’d like what he heard.

Finally, Stan scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and spoke, “you know Kyle, I’ve meant to say this before but… you know you’re not responsible for him, right?” Kyle didn’t respond. Sure, Stan could say that, but if he wasn’t then who the hell was? Not their parents for sure. Stan kept talking. “Like I know it must hurt like a bitch, but if you think about it this is kind of perfect. You have an early warning system if he’s up to something, and if Cartman comes near you, you can just zap him.”

Kyle looked away, bitterly muttering under his breath, “it’s very much a double edge sword, Stan.”

His friend only shrugged.

“I’m just saying, it’s not your job to look after him,” Stan said, looking him up and down, “maybe you should take this as a chance to break the habit or something.”   

Kyle cringed. A bad habit. Was that how people saw it? Whatever he and Cartman were, it was a far cry from nail-biting or the occasional one beer too many. But if it went beyond that then it verged into territory that Kyle just wasn’t ready to tackle.

 _Fuck_ , his head hurt.

“Yeah, sure man. I’ll give it a go,” Kyle muttered and turning his back on his friend, he left.  

.

It was 11PM.

Kyle’s desk was shaking in its effort to support him. Every time he bounced his leg everything from his chair to the lamp trembled under the onslaught. His notes were a scrunched and wrinkled mess beneath his grip; Kyle could feel the way the paper crinkled against his cheek. He’d probably left bruises in his arms he was gripping them so tightly as wave after wave of shocks wracked his body.

Pushing his textbook to the side, Kyle brought his fingers to his temple in what was quickly becoming a habit. Even before this mess, his thoughts had been a jumble of pre-calc and history and college applications and then at the forefront of it all was this fucking chip. He didn’t have time for this.

It wasn’t as it had been at the hospital, or even earlier that day where the pain had been sharp and immediate like a pinch to the neck. This was different. It was a constant dull hum that left his eyes watering and his forehead throbbing. He was numb to everything but the pulsing. It was unlike anything Kyle had ever felt before and he’d had some fucked-up things done to his body (they didn’t talk about the thing with Apple. EVER.). Yet somehow, more than anything, this was unbearable, and he knew exactly who to blame.

In reality, Kyle likely put up with it for two minutes, but who cared about reality when it felt like the shocks had been dragging on for hours. In no time at all, his temper snapped like an overwrought guitar string, and Kyle was dialling the number.

Unusually, Cartman didn’t answer immediately but let it ring for a while. By the fourth ring, Kyle’s legs were stuttering a rhythm against his desk again. He clenched his teeth, just about convinced that he wouldn’t get an answer when Cartman’s voice broke through the line.

“Hello?” He sounded breathy. Kyle didn’t reply at first, a little taken aback by the lukewarm greeting, but he recovered quickly.

“Cartman. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

“Kyle?” Had he not checked who was calling? His skin prickled as once again the chip sent pulses through his body. Kyle was quickly losing his patience.

“Yeah, “Kyle”. Who else would it be?” He snapped. He didn’t imagine the sigh he got reply or how distracted Cartman sounded.

“For fucks sake I’m a little busy right now. What happened to avoiding each other?”

And what an awesome, successful idea that had been. Kyle felt the suspicion take root. Alarm bells exclusive to Cartman and his bullshit were going off inside his head making for all-together too much noise. He felt like he was going to split in half.

“Don’t start with me Fatass. This fucking thing is still going off so whatever you’re doing stop it right fucking now.”

“I…” there was a pause as Cartman shuffled about in the background. When he came back he sounded clearer, more lucid, but some of the gruffness remained. “I thought that was _you_.”

“ _Me_?” Kyle let that settle in. How obsessed did Cartman think he was that he would just sit in his bedroom and think about him. “I’m trying to do my homework. What are you doing?”

Again, there was no answer but for the dead silence across the line. Suddenly, Cartman’s breath hitched, when he spoke again there was something new to his tone.

"That wasn't you..." he repeated. It was testament to how the chip had fucked him up that it was only now occurring to Kyle that Cartman’s slow reactions were probably down to the shocks as well. “This isn't a sex line Jew. If you want that shit go call the Food Network.”

God dammit he hated him.

“Stop deflecting,” he snapped. Usually his growl would be warning enough, but this was Cartman, and apparently Kyle had struck a nerve.

“What I’m doing is none of your goddamn business asshole.” They were both too on edge. What was left of their common sense had probably fried around the third time he’d called Cartman a fatass. If Kyle didn’t dial it back soon, they’d have another bomb-at-the-mayors-office on their hands.

“Look just…keep me out of your fucking head.”

“Then how about you hop off my dick Broflovski -GAH!”

Ok so that one was Kyle’s fault, but it was with some satisfaction that he hung up the phone. It was with even more relief that he noticed that the buzzing had stopped. That final shock must have reset the chip, because all of a sudden Kyle could breathe again. He could think finally again.

The conclusion he came to was pretty simple. Either the chip or Cartman, one of them needed to go before it killed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so I slept on Kyman week. I really didn’t mean to. You guys did some amazing work, but I had exams and then I’ve been travelling like crazy so it took a while to get my writing brain going again. I’m hoping to finish this within the month. I am, however, tragically disorganised so yeah.


	3. Chapter 3

The fluorescent lights of South Park High’s hallways were a lot to deal with on any given day. On this particular day, they pierced Kyle’s eyes with the vengeance of a Sophoclean tragedy. He was absolutely shattered. Again. Worst was that once you excluded the perpetual fatigue of any long-term South Park resident, Kyle didn’t even have a good excuse. Only that he was losing sleep over Cartman again.

One week. One whole week Cartman hadn’t said a word to him. He hadn’t spoken to anybody.  Kyle didn’t know how or why, but over the week following their phone call, Cartman had gradually shut down. In an all or nothing turn of events, without Kyle to bicker with, classes and everything else just wasn’t worth his time.

In all his seventeen years and seven months living in South Park, Kyle didn’t think he’d ever had a week as uneventful as this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to school and that had been it; just classes, lunch, classes, home.

Of course, not everything stopped. His day was still interrupted by intermittent shocks, however whenever it happened, and instinct dictate he seek out the source, Cartman always looked just as distressed as Kyle felt. They’d share a quick apologetic nod and move on with their lives. 

Kyle wanted to believe that Cartman was over his initial bullshit, but seventeen years of experience held him back. So, every time the shocks came, be it from Cartman or himself, they came with a concomitant doubt that had Kyle losing sleep.

He yawned now, rubbing winter-dry knuckles into his eyes.

As if summoned, Cartman stood ahead of him in the hallway. He didn’t seem to have noticed Kyle yet because he was actually letting Butters chatter away at him without so much as a sideways glance. His brow was fixed in a deep-set frown. Behind it was a mind a million miles away.

Kyle cleared his throat to speak.

“Hey dudes.”

“Good morning Kyle. Boy, you don’t look so good.”

Kyle heaved a sigh. If he had a dime.

“Thank you Butters, I’m fine.” He hoped it sounded firm enough to not garner a reply, but people just didn’t listen to him the way they once did. Fiddling absently with his fingers, Butters glanced to Cartman with a sympathy few afforded him these days.  

“Why I bet this is because of that darn chip. It’s been giving Eric an awful headache. That’s why…”

Butters was cut off by the sudden and very loud slamming of a locker behind him. Cartman glowered at them, drawing closer.

“Let’s go Butters,” he muttered darkly, wrenching him away by elbow. Kyle watched them go blankly.

Cartman had barely looked at him, let alone spoken. It should have been a relief. He reminded himself it was a relief. But there was just one small, persistent problem. 

“That’s why what?”

Kyle retrieved his textbooks, his thoughts a stunted staccato.

.

There were times when Kyle wondered if life in South Park was the same to everybody else as it was to him. He wondered if Token Black spent his Saturday nights with military officials foiling terrorist attacks. If Rebecca or Kevin or Big Gay Al or anyone else had ever bought a harmless jacket in a sale only to have it try and take over the world. Or was it that when Kyle and his friends weren’t looking, life in their town was just the same as anywhere else? Because when he and his friends talked about subcutaneous nanochips, the rest of the guys talked about college. They talked about girls. They talked about getting out of South Park.

Although Kyle didn’t like to dwell on it, ultimately, Stan was right. At this point in their lives, when so much was about to change, Kyle couldn’t afford to be this preoccupied with Cartman. If he was really going to get the hell out of this shithole, he needed to sever the link.

Wasn’t that what his parents wanted of him anyway.

A whistle sounded. The steady thud of feet striking asphalt slowed to a stop as his classmates made their way off the field. Kyle had been somewhere towards the back of the group. He let the guys overtake him, staying on the track instead for one final lap of walking. Kenny and Stan fell into step beside him. Cartman had disappeared long before when no one had been watching. It was probably a miracle he’d turned up to PE at all.

His friends didn’t talk, waiting for him to go first. Eyes fixed on the ground, Kyle spoke.

“Do you guys ever think about college?”

Stan and Kenny exchanged a glance. It wasn’t what they’d been expecting. Stan bridged the silence.

“Sure, man.” He said, shoving his hands in his pocket. “I wanna study wildlife conservation. There’s some great programs out there like Washington State or Michigan… what?”

 Kyle was staring at him. It was the first Stan had ever mentioned it, but he was thinking of leaving the state all together.

“What the hell, how long have you been planning that?”

Stan shrugged.

“Ages dude. Probably since I was a kid.”

Stan had always liked animals. He’d been fighting for them since he was eight. Kyle could remember a couple times when he’d been pulled into it too, but that his friend was that serious about it…

“What about you Kenny?”

“I know a guy, used to work with my brother at the bike shop. He’s got his own tattoo place in Denver, he’s agreed to take me on.”

Kyle was stunned.

“Seriously?”

His friend nodded. His smile was contained, but Kyle could see the excitement in his eyes.

“I move in July, he’s got a closet or something I can sleep in,” he said. Rolling his shoulders back, he laughed, “I was never going to be some liberal arts hippy douche anyway, but inking half-naked chicks all day doesn’t sound half bad.”

They’d made it around by now, wordlessly they headed for the locker rooms. Kenny opened the door for them and they trudged in. Kyle suddenly felt heavy. At some point he had lost track of his friends. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he wanted for himself anymore.

“Holy crap dude, here I am wasting my time with Cartman and you guys have it figured out already,” he muttered. “You were right Stan, it’s not like I can just babysit him for the rest of my life.” He paused, frowning into empty space. “It’s not like I have to.”

They were looking at each other again, exchanging that knowing glance over Kyle’s head. They made their way across the room. It was more or less empty by now.

Kenny jostled Stan with all the subtlety of a teenage boy with a can of body spray, nodding towards Kyle as he rummaged heartlessly through his locker. Stan glanced between them with a reluctant grimace. It didn’t take long for Kyle to catch on.

“Whatever it is just say it.”

Stan gave up. Setting his water bottle on the bench, he frowned into his folded hands.

“Kyle I…” he began, then he fretted “well,” he fretted some more, “so…”

He gave up.

“It’s nothing.”

Kyle looked at his friend with a frown, trying to place his tone. Sometimes Stan would shut down because he was spiralling. Other times it just wasn’t worth the discussion. He decided on the latter. Whenever something was really bothering Stan, it surfaced only if he wanted it to.  

“Ok.”

The conversation dropped.

Across from them, Kenny glanced between his friends. With his shirt half-way buttoned, he had that look on his face of affectionate exasperation. Honestly, nothing ever got done without him.

“So, hey speaking of wild, crazy sex wanna hear a story?”

Stan and Kyle looked his way.

“No,”

“Nobody was talking about that.”

They spoke simultaneously, shooting each other amused glances.

Kenny barrelled on anyway.

“Right, so I hooked up with that chick from the other week. You know the one from the farm tour we went on? Cute face. Great tits. An accomplished and respectable individual in the agricultural industry.”

Stan’s face could have curdled milk.

“Wasn’t she like forty or something?”

“Thirty-five, I think, but close.”

“Jesus Ken.”

Kenny only shrugged, grinning at Stan.

“What’s a little love between consenting adults?” he said, waving any objection aside, specifically Kyle’s attempt to point out how barely consenting some of those adults were. “Anyway, I need you guys to tell me if this is weird or not. So, she was….”

It began.

Kenny had never been one to kiss and tell before, but what followed was the most bizarre moment in Kyle’s… well in his week at least.

Kenny had always found a perverse enjoyment in making them uncomfortable, but this was next level. All thoughts of changing forgotten, Stan and Kyle could only surrender and let it happen. On the bench, Stan just get lower and lower until finally his head was in his hands and nose was pinched between his fingers. The tips of his ears were siren red.

Kyle wasn’t embarrassed. He did what he always did which was face the problem head on and hope it went away. Kenny did not.

“So basically, animal play I’m down, but like the cattle prod, yay or nay?”

Kyle didn’t answer. He’d gone back to changing.

Stan, after a moment of silence, lifted his head. He looked like he’d aged.

“Is it over?”

Kyle was starting to feel years older too.

“It’s weird, Ken,” he said definitively. He didn’t want this to go on any longer than it had to, but Kenny was eyeing him like he had something to prove.

“Oh, come on, Kyle. You’re saying you never been surprised at yourself? Never tapped on the door of your trauma induced fetishes?”

Stan had never looked so distressed. Kyle, on the other hand, frowned. It seemed a very pointed thing to ask.

“No.”

Even Stan didn’t look convinced at that. Forgetting his own discomfort, he looked to Kyle sceptically. Kenny did even moreso.

“Oh really?”

What the hell was happening?

“Why are we even having this conversation?” Kyle said. Turning his back on his friends, he fished his hat out of the locker and slipped it on. The faster he changed, the faster he could get out of there.

The locker room was emptying out. At the other end of the room only Butters and Jimmy remained. He'd noticed Cartman a while back too. He was fixing his hair in the bathroom. Kyle could only just make out the cursory flick of his wrist through the doorway.

Kenny got dressed with an ease that spoke of many evenings spent naked before others. It spoke of years of dissociation. When Kenny looked at Kyle, it bored into his soul.

“You see, I think Kyle’s got a little freak in him too,” he said. Cooly. Calmly. Kyle bristled at the words.

“No, I don’t.”

“Really?”

A locker slammed somewhere of to the side. Jimmy and Butters filtered out of the room. Stan was finished too but he held back, reluctantly following their every word. In front of him, Kenny leaned against the cool metal, waiting curiously to see how this would play out. 

Kyle faced him head on.

“What’s this about dude?”

Kyle wasn’t an idiot. Kenny was never this persistent about something he wasn’t in some way invested in. But he had always been hard to read. Looking at him now, his face gave nothing away.

“You’re a passionate guy Kyle. You’re saying you haven’t once lost control?” He said it slowly. Every word from his lips sounding like a dare. He was advancing on him. In the bathroom, Cartman’s hands were fixing his shirt.

“Never caught yourself wanting something you shouldn’t?”

His sleeves slipped when he reached upwards. Beneath red cuffs and dim light, Kyle could see the putrid purple of angry bruises. Bruises that he'd left a week ago, wrestling a detonator out of his hands.

Kyle kept his lips pressed tight and his eyes on his friend refusing to break.

“Never wanted to control someone? Dominate them?”

He heard the creak of a door behind him, the chatter in the hallway beyond. As well trained as he was, he couldn’t keep Kenny out. His words seeped into him, inflating his thoughts even where they lurked in the deepest, darkest parts of his mind. One by one they buoyed to the surface.

Kyle thought about a phone call.

“Never wanted to own them?”

It thudded through Kyle’s veins until his heartbeat was in his ears.

The floodgates had opened. Staring intently into those knowing eyes, Kyle’s skin was heating up. It didn’t rush his mind so much as ooze out of him. Kenny could read it off his face like sheet music. Where Stan saw discomfort, Kenny saw notes, and he knew exactly how to play them.

“Am I right Kyle?”

There was a movement over Kenny’s shoulder and finally the thread was cut. Kyle looked away, but in doing so fell instantly into someone else. Cartman was finished. Their eyes met, and the buzzing spilled over. Bags clattered to the floor. The chip flared up inside his brain. By the doorway, there was another thud as Cartman banged his head into the frame, scrunching up his face in pain.

“Fuck Kyle! What the hell is your problem?”

Kyle dropped onto the bench

His body was a pulsing mess. It hadn’t been this bad for a while. If he had been able to focus on anything else, he would have heard his friends finishing up. He would have heard the slam of their lockers and Stan muttering to Kenny with resigned disapproval.

“Christ, you lay it on thick don’t you?”

He would have heard Kenny reply, “it worked didn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this was going to be fluff and humour? No, this is going to be a shameless projection of my current quarter-life crisis. The irony of this chapter is that a liberal arts hippy douche is exactly what Kenny is in both my other fics. But I imagine he’d make a good one. 
> 
> Someday I want to write a really dark and poetic decades-long fic about Cartman and Kyle just completely ruining each other’s lives hannigram style. This is not that story.
> 
> I promise Cartman will have more to say soon. So yeah, brace yourselves. Things are about to get really stupid.


	4. Chapter 4

He found out what Butters was talking about soon enough. Not by looking, but by sheer coincidence.

It was bound to happen. In a town like South Park, nothing was ever private for long. News spread fast and rumour even faster. Kyle would cause a scene outside Whole Foods and his mother would know about it before he even stepped through the front door. Gossip was a currency of its own and the only type of news that wasn’t fake anymore.

It didn’t help when pretty much all of them lived on the same street too. There were kids from other districts that went to their school, but the stupid shit, all the OG South Park bullshit took place right here, and if Kyle weren’t so often involved, he could have watched it all play out from the comfort of his own bedroom.

It was from there that he saw Butters on a clear, Saturday night in January making his way to Cartman’s house First Aid kit in hand.

Kyle had kept the window cracked open. It was minus temperatures outside, but the light breeze kept him sharp. He’d heard the humming first. It carried through his window like a nursery rhyme in a horror film. When he’d pushed his curtains aside to have a look, the light from his room had caught Butter’s attention immediately.

Butter’s skip slowed to a walk as he waved at him.

“Hiya Kyle!”

Kyle pulled his sleeves down, pushing the window further open to talk.

“Butters what are you doing?”

“I’m going to Eric’s. We’re going to play doctor,” he said, proudly brandishing the box.

Oh boy.

Stan’s voice was in the recesses of his mind again. _Let it go Kyle, just let it go._ He turned back to his laptop and whatever inane hole of the internet he’d fallen into this time. Right up until Butters tapped his chin and said, “at least that’s what he told me to say.”

_Fuck it._

Kyle all but threw his laptop aside. Leaning out the window, he frowned and said, “can I come with?”

Butters started to do all that usual fidgeting he did when he was trying to figure out how to say no. Fiddling with the hem of his shirt, he glanced side to side, up and down, and anywhere but Kyle.

“Gee I don’t know Kyle. Eric was being pretty secretive. I don’t think he’d appreciate that a whole lot.”

That was the nail in the coffin.

“I’m coming with.”

“Well ok I guess.” It was the last thing he heard before closing the window. Kyle was out the door in seconds, shouting some half-assed excuse to his dad who only waved him out dismissively. Since the little thing in Denmark seven years ago, where he had single-handedly and permanently disintegrated US-Scandinavian relations, Gerald made little effort to police Kyle in anyway when Sheila wasn’t around.  

They were at the Cartman house in seconds. Neither said a word to each other until Kyle hammered decisively on the front door. For once it was Cartman who answered, opening the door expectantly and sighing at the sight of them.

“God dammit Butters.”

Butter’s at least had the decency to shrug, but there was nothing remotely apologetic about his tone when he said, “sorry Eric. You know how stubborn Kyle can be, and well I didn’t want to deal with his bitching.”

Kyle forgot whatever it was he was about to say to stare at Butters. Seriously, where did that snark come from sometimes? Cartman, on the other hand, nodded in profound understanding.

“Yeah, I get it. No one wants to deal with him when he gets all Detective Sandy Vagina SPPD.”

“Now hang on a goddamn minute!”

“Yeah yeah, there’s no sand I got it. Just come in already.” Cartman stepped aside. After eyeing him suspiciously, Kyle followed. He was just through the threshold when Cartman slammed the door right in Butter’s face. In the silence of the hall, Kyle could just make out the muted call of their names from the other side.

Eyeing Cartman tiredly, he said, “didn’t you need him for something?”

Cartman lit up at the reminder.

“Right.” Opening the door to where Butters was still waiting, Cartman grabbed the kit from his hands and slammed the door again. “Ok let’s go.”

Kyle watched him climb up the stairs quietly. On the other side, Butters was saying goodbye. Cursing under his breath, Kyle followed him up. They were safely behind the closed bedroom door before Kyle spoke up.

“What’s this about fat ass?”

Closing his eyes, Cartman heaved an enduring sigh and placed the kit on his desk.

“Can we not jump right into the fat jokes Kyle? I’m trying to stay on top of this even after you so rudely invaded my safe-space, you dick.”

“Well that’s a change,” Kyle snorted, still skirting the edges of the room as if he were encaged with a wild animal, “what happened to your plan of mutually assured destruction?”

“Couldn’t get the Koreans on board,” Cartman said absent-mindedly. Stood by the desk, he was rummaging through the Stotch’s first aid kit. Eventually, Kyle’s curiosity got the better of him, and he crossed the room to join his friend. The desk was covered in a thick plastic sheet. When he was closer, he could see other things set up along with the box. Cartman had a scalpel, gloves, disinfectant, towels, local anaesthetic, and his ever-faithful hot tea and codeine laid out neatly in a line before him. Kyle knew instantly what they were for, but he needed to ask anyway.

“Cartman what the hell are you doing?”

He sent him a cursory glance.

“Isn’t it obvious? Maybe you can deal with this crap, but I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

With a triumphant cry, Cartman pulled a pair of long fingered tweezers from the box. _This god damn fucking moron._ Rubbing his temples, Kyle sighed for what felt like a solid minute.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he snapped. Tracing fingers over the instruments, he lifted the anaesthetic incredulously. It had already been used. “Where did you even _get_ these?”

“Tom’s Rhinoplasty.”

“You robbed the Rhinoplasty?”

“You make it sound like fucking GTA. It was one small bag Jew.”

Kyle’s temper twitched. They really had no other way they could talk to each other. No wonder Stan always pinched his nose when they were around.

“Cartman this isn’t fucking Dexter. If you cut your head open, you will die.”

Rubbing antiseptic on the tips of the tweezers, Cartman placed them meticulously in line with the rest of the instruments. The First Aid Kit went on the floor, tucked tightly underneath the desk away from harm. Somewhere in the back of Kyle’s mind it registered how lucky they were that Cartman already had his trademark brand of crazy. Otherwise, he’d make a formidable serial killer.

Eyes laser focused, Cartman threw out his words carelessly.

“I thought you’d like that.”

“Not if I have to do it, jackass.”

“You’re such a no-good fucking hippy,” Cartman groaned, “get out of here then. Get Butters.”  

“No.”

“God dammit Kyle. It’s not even in that deep, I can feel it. Do you really think they’d be retarded enough to put it on a major artery?” Cartman was starting to lose his patience. He was probably on the clock with the anaesthetics, and as much as he wanted to, Kyle knew he couldn’t leave now. Cartman would only try to do it himself. Kyle watched him with a grimace as he draped a towel over his desk chair and took a seat. Brushing his hair aside, he pinned it back with a pearl pink hair clip Kyle recognised from the last time Cartman had found some flimsy excuse to drag up. He still favoured blonde. Kyle had noticed the clip peeking out of the curls. It had matched the spangles of his skimpy dress.   

Kyle’s fingers found the subtle outline of the chip under his own skin, no bigger than a micro SD card. Cartman was right that it wasn’t in deep, but even Kyle hadn’t thought to try and dig it out. Cartman must have been truly desperate.

He’d sure as hell done his research. Cartman was only ever diligent when it came to things like this. Kyle and probably everyone else knew that he was smart. Hell, he was brilliant even if no one would ever tell him that to his face. Only problem was that the interest had to be there. Unfortunately, it was usually hare-brained schemes like these that stoked the fire.

So, who knew, maybe it would work. After all, it had been almost three weeks, and their folks were showing no sign of budging. In fact, they’d all been over to the Marsh’s house the other night to congratulate each other on their successful parenting methods and new-found, town-wide harmony. They genuinely thought it was working when Kyle felt like he was growing more stupid by the second. That he was actually considering this was proof of it now. After all, if anyone was going to try it, rather Cartman than him.

Cartman’s brow was set in feverish determination. In his hand was the gleaming scalpel. He was holding it out for Kyle to take. The blunt handle was within Kyle’s grasp. He took in the cold, hard edge of the blade on the other side hovering in a direct angle to Cartman’s wobbling throat. Kyle’s hands hung dead at his sides. Cartman was literally handing him the knife to cut him open. If Kyle pushed only a little, he could shove it right into the fat fuck’s jugular. Unconsciously, his fingers twitched. The chip at his temple began to hum. Kyle was getting sucked in again.

But then he saw more. Lazily his eyes drifted across Cartman’s torso, across the worn towel and t-shirt to where his other hand was gripping at the arm of his desk-chair. Cartman’s knuckles were white. Piercing green veins popped from his skin, a web of working, rushing blood. Cartman was alive. He was scared.

Kyle snapped out of it, pinching himself viciously.

“Fucking hell, don’t make me do this dude,” he said. He _pleaded_. Kyle never pleaded for anything.

Whether it was from nerves or anger or something else, Cartman’s breathing was laboured. The air in the room had changed, thick with anticipation. Kyle suddenly felt hot under his collar.

“Why?” Cartman’s voice was deep. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. When he spoke again it was almost like he was panting. With a devastating smirk, he licked his lips and said, “scared, Jew?”

He fell for it every time.

Kyle snatched the scalpel from his chubby hand with a sneer.

Grabbing the antiseptic, Cartman rubbed it over the thin spot on his skin above the chip and Kyle felt a crackle in his ears. Whether it was the chip or just him, he couldn’t tell.  What little common sense he had left was telling him this was stupid, but that tank was nigh on empty, and Kyle was driving full-speed down the highway on instinct alone.  

“If you bleed out I’m leaving you here.”

But Cartman looked smug. He looked satisfied. There was no hiding that he’d won.

“No problem at all.”

Kyle grabbed a handful of hair from the top of Cartman’s head and wrenched it to the side. Cartman’s head tilted. The pull made his neck pop, but all Kyle got from him was a derisive, breathy laugh.

“This is a terrible idea.” Kyle needed it said for posterity. So that Cartman couldn’t hold it against him when he came out with a permanent scar.

But Cartman wasn’t interested in talking anymore. Glaring wickedly up at Kyle, he bared his teeth impatiently. If this was going to happen, if Kyle was really going to cut his head open, he was going to do it with Cartman staring him dead in the eye.

“Just do it, pussy.”

Scalpel sank into flesh.

The first cut was tentative. It barely drew a grunt from Cartman, but it travelled up Kyle’s arm in ice-cold, devastating, shockwaves. His arm shivered as if possessed. It felt separate from the rest of him. The skin prickled, and Kyle recoiled at the feeling, but he willed himself to stay still anyway, drawing a steading breath.

“This is the most fucked-up thing you’ve ever made me do,” he said shakily, and Cartman chuckled casually as if he was having a damn hair cut, as if he wasn’t possibly about to die from illegal, amateur surgery. Eyes like syrup found him under fluttering lashes. Cartman was still grinning.

“Is it?”

Kyle gulped down a lump in his throat.

It wasn’t.

The ginger cow, The Passion, giving him fucking HIV, making him complicit in the Tenorman murders, making him fucking humiliate and degrade himself over and over again for nearly eighteen years. This wasn’t the worst by a long shot.

Suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to cut. Tightening his grip on the scalpel, Kyle’s knuckles cracked. He grit his teeth and drew blood. It wasn’t a lot; Cartman had been right about the artery, but still a drop of it welled and trickled warmly down his forehead. It curved the edge of his cheek, staining the corner of his lips cherry wine red. Cartman drew a breath sharply through the dye. It can’t have hurt. He was too drugged up to feel, but in that moment, Kyle realised that a part of Cartman hadn’t believed Kyle had it in him.

Kyle hadn’t thought he had it in him either, but his heartbeat was steady as a metronome. He felt disgusted, unsettled, but at the back of it all, he felt a thrill, and he saw it reflected in Cartman’s eyes. The chip was humming under his own skin. Cartman must have felt it too because his was buzzing at Kyle’s fingertips. It could only be his even pulse that was keeping it down; this was definitely against the rules.

Kyle steadied his grip and kept going. The first cut had been only skin, but he was only a nick away from the chip. He aimed for it now, tilting the scalpel parallel to the card. The tip had just nudged the corner of the system when all at once it went off and Kyle’s head exploded.

The blade slipped from his fingers as he collapsed to the floor with a cry. It clattered beside him, scattering spots of blood onto worn carpet. The pain was sharp and venomous as a snake bite. It burst through his head like a bullet train, shutting down every nerve in its path. Kyle held on just enough to see Cartman drop to the floor beside him, before his eyes fell shut and he passed out.

.

He didn’t know how long they were out for, minutes or hours, but when they woke they did it together. It couldn’t have been long, because at least Cartman was still alive. Rubbing aching heads and tears from their eyes, Kyle and Cartman looked to each other.

“I guess-“ Kyle choked. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “I guess we should’ve seen that coming.”

Of course, there was some kind of defence in place. Only now, on the come down, could Kyle see how stupid and naïve they’d been. Crawling on all fours, Cartman scowled at the scalpel viciously, snatching it from the carpet. The thought had occurred to him too, but it was too late for that now. Bringing the towel to his forehead to dab at the cut, Cartman cursed as if he were summoning Satan himself.

Leaning back on his haunches, he tightened his grip so hard his knuckles whitened. The scalpel nicked the crease of his palm between the thumb and forefinger. Seething and hissing, blood pooled in the well of his hand. It ran through the cracks and dripped to the carpet like honey, but Cartman didn’t seem to notice. He was staring of into space. When he spoke, it was with dangerous promise.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

For once, Kyle didn’t disagree. Ignoring the phantom aches in his head, he reached forward and gently removed the weapon from pale hands. Cartman watched him take it. He watched the shades as Kyle’s shadow fell over him. Looking into his eyes, Kyle sighed, wordlessly calling a cease-fire.

“Let’s fix your head first, fat ass.”

Kyle pulled him to his feet. Sulking quietly, Cartman let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just going to go ahead and take that humour tag down. Forget I said that lol this story has a life of its own. Don’t get me wrong, we were always heading down this road, it was just funnier in my head OTL
> 
> I wonder if Kyle and Cartman have ever just sat down and just talked about the weather or some shit. It seems impossible to me. Every time I write them in my head I see that Simpsons meme of Marge in the car with the kids (you know the one). I’m just, how does anyone have the energy to be friends with them? No wonder they’re driving Stan and me to drink.
> 
> I promise I don’t hate Butters. I just feel like Kyle does a little bit. And you’ve gotta admit he’s been a little shit in recent series.   
> I’m quite happy that I kept within schedule for once. As always would love to hear your thoughts :)


	5. Chapter 5

Kyle stayed in Cartman’s room until late.

Propped against the closet, sleepless shadows growing under his eyes, Kyle sat quietly and seethed. Softly and rhythmically, he tapped the back of his head against the closet door as if to loosen the ideas from his mind. He kept his eyes on the sky outside and watched the clouds creep by the moon, bringing the room in and out of focus like a broken camera lense.

He didn’t feel like talking. A little bit, he didn’t trust himself to either. Since bandaging Cartman’s head, they’d spent most of the night in silence, seeking quiet comfort in their mutual anger. It was almost refreshing not to be mad at him for once.

Cartman was menacing in his silence. He was sat at the desk again, gnawing his way through a pen and guzzling Mountain Dew as if Kyle would try to take it from him. He only got up to occasionally pace across the floor as he always did when he was planning. When banging his head didn’t work, Kyle gave up and left him to it. He was too spent to come up with anything himself. Vengeance had never been his forte. Better to leave it to the experts.

Turning his head, Kyle looked at him now.

“So what’s the plan fatass?” He asked, expectantly

“Not helping Kyle.” Cartman shot him a filthy look, but Kyle could not bring himself to care.

“Just start talking.”

“Alright fine!” he said, “we’ve got a problem.”

“No fucking shit.”

“Do you wanna hear this or not dude?” Kyle rolled his eyes but gestured for Cartman to continue. Getting to his feet, Cartman began pacing haltingly across the floor. “Right, so pretty obvious we can’t get these out ourselves.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No adult in town is going to help us. Probably the only person who can is that French piece of crap doctor anyway.”

“I don’t this he’s French but go on.”

Cartman came to a halt. He dropped to his knees in front of Kyle

“So here’s what I got. Tomorrow night we go to his office cleverly disguised as black people...”

“Cartman I swear to fucking god…” But all Kyle got for his efforts was a flat palm to his mouth. Cartman shushed him as soothingly as he used to his dolls, patting Kyle’s head with his other hand. He hadn’t washed them. They still tasted like antiseptic. The scent was clean in Kyle’s nose, burning like cheap tequila. He glared at him in warning. Kyle's fingers even twitched ready to move, but he didn’t yet.

Cartman’s pupils were dilated. He didn’t know if it was the drugs or the dark or just the excitement of Kyle actually allowing him to stop his mouth, but he looked ravenous. Smirking wickedly, he dropped his voice so it carried no further than them.  

“Look, hear me out before you get your panties all twisted up, Sandy.” The humming in his head was back again. A growl rumbled in Kyle’s throat, and he bit into the hand on his lips, sinking in his teeth until Cartman yelped and pulled away.

“ _Fuck Kyle_. _”_ Cartman whined, cradling the injured palm in his hand and staring at him in outrage. “We’ve gotta talk about your oral fixation dude.”

“Fuck you. I didn’t even break the skin.”

“Right, that’s the problem here. Next time you want to eat me just use the scalpel, you fucking cannibal.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

It was supposed to be threatening, but Cartman only smiled like he had a blade to his head again. Kyle watched him run his thumb over the indents in his hand and thought how Cartman might be a masochist after all. It was true that he hadn’t broken skin, but the marks were deep. They would take a moment to fade.

It had been a while since they’d touched each other like that. Or at all. Violently was the only way they knew how. That was already sick. It was made worse by how pleased Cartman looked whenever it happened: like he’d planned it; like he _liked_ it. Kyle hated him for it, and so the chip was buzzing.

The colour in his palms returned to normal. Cartman dropped his hand to his side and sat a respectable distance away from Kyle’s jaws and fists.  

“Alright General Blahyi, you ready to hear me out now?”

He could use his feet if he had to.

“No more black jokes fatass.”

Cartman rolled his eyes.

“Ugh fine we’ll axe the disguises you pussy. All I’m saying is he’ll have his personal information at the office, right? He’s got to have written this shit down somewhere. Let’s just tell the front desk we’re there to give some kind of progress report then hide out until the fucker leaves. When the coast is clear we steal the plans; we get the chips out; we kill the doctor, his work, and all evidence with plastic explosives then we all go to the Winchester and have a nice cold pint and wait for this to blow over.”

“What.”

Cartman had been drawing a sketch of his plans into the carpet with his finger. At Kyle’s words he glanced up, looking a little surprised

“Shaun? Shaun of- oh forget it. You’re such a douche.”  

"What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s a film dude.”

Jesus fucking Christ he was going to pull his hair out.

“I know what the fucking film is jackass. I meant the plastic explosives.”

“Oh.” Cartman crossed his legs, leaning his chin into his hand. “What you thought he could do this to me and I’d just let it go?”

With a heavy sigh, Kyle ran a hand over his face. His skin was dry. His eyelids were heavy. This was working his final nerve.

“We’re not killing the doctor.”

“But Kyyyleee”

“No fatass.”

 It set off the chip. In a flash of impatience, Kyle had forgotten himself, but the shock was like a hit of adrenalin to his brain. Cartman, however, was still hurting from the cut on his head. It showed now, and it was so much worse than before. 

As soon as Cartman had realised that pushing back got him an even better reaction than crying, he had stopped altogether. It had been years since Kyle had seen Cartman cry, but he saw it now. With the drugs finally wearing off, the white of his eyes were blood shot, the vessels like a thousand hives. He was blinking a lot, trying to keep the tears away. Kyle hadn’t noticed before how much Cartman had been fighting sleep. He looked exhausted. Not like Kyle who was only suffering from this particularly long night. Cartman’s exhaustion had built over days, weeks even. In that moment, watching Cartman clutch at his hair so hard a few strands fell out, Kyle realised that he may actually not have got the worse end of the deal here.

He didn’t think this doctor knew what he’d done when he chose them for his little project. It was this kind of sleep-deprivation that usually drove Cartman to murder.

There was a certain impulse inside of him that wanted Kyle to reach out and comfort his friend. But Kyle knew no more how to do that than he did how to get this fucking thing out of their heads in the first place. The only thing Kyle could think to do was what he always did.

He took a deep breath. The buzzing subsided. He saw it too in how Cartman’s spine relaxed.

“Hey…how about we just… ask him?”

Still bent over with his hands in his hair, Cartman looked at him between thick forearms. He tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes.

“What?”

Kyle shifted uncomfortably, but he felt a flicker of confidence all the same.

“The guy said it would be a little prick, right? He was clearly wrong about that I mean look at us,” he said, gesturing between them. Hunched together on the floor by Cartman’s closet, they made for a pretty miserable sight. Kyle took the silence as a sign to continue. “Our parents won’t help, but like, how evil can this guy be? The chip is obviously malfunctioning. Let’s just explain that. I’m sure he would understand.”

Cartman was giving him that look again, the one he saved for when he thought Kyle was being especially stupid and naïve. Usually when he was waxing poetic about man's inhumanity towards man.

“You want to romance the guy with one of your gay little speeches?”

“We can always try dude.”

“Sure, we can try that. How about I get on my fucking knees and let him tea-bag me too? Hell, maybe we can get some Gatorade and cigarettes off Kenny for him too. He’s gonna be tuckered out once you’ve so kindly sucked his dick dry.”

They were fanning the flame again. Kyle couldn’t stop it. Forgetting any and all pity from a moment before, Kyle glared at him and said, “just because you don’t have any basic human decency doesn’t mean that none of us do Cartman.”

But Cartman was getting just as exasperated. He waved his hand dismissively. Kyle was forced to lean away.

“We’re this guy’s life work Kyle. He’s not going to send us off with some cab fare and a pat on the ass just because we asked nicely.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“How could you _not_?”

They were fully in each other’s faces again. Their grinding of teeth could have sparked a bomb fire, but still Kyle refused to give. Before he let himself do anything as recklessly stupid as he’d done tonight, Kyle was going to do the right thing.

After nearly eighteen years, Cartman knew when no amount of pushing would get Kyle to back down. That didn’t mean Cartman had learned to give up. That kind of growth was beyond him. What he knew to do was work around it. Exploiting it was something Cartman had been able to do since kindergarten.

Leaning back, Cartman smirked at him, bringing his hand to his chin, he ran a finger calculatingly across his lips. Kyle followed it with his eyes and waited for the words to be pulled out between them.

“I bet you twenty bucks it won’t work.”

In a way, Kyle had seen that coming.

“You’re not going to ask me to suck your balls?”

“Kyle if you really wanted to all you had to do was ask-UGH” He punched him in the arm. It was entirely justified. Plus Kyle had always enjoyed that stupid noise he made whenever he was hit out of the blue. Rubbing his arm, Cartman frowned and said, “no balls this time. Why do I need to when you’re always so willing to throw yourself into bets you can’t win?”

 And why did Kyle let himself be baited every single time?

Well, because sometimes he won.

Running a finger across his temple, Kyle looked him in the eye.

“Twenty bucks?”

Cartman grinned in reply.

“Twenty bucks.”

Kyle took Cartman’s hand, and they shook on it. But just as he was trying to pull away and finally get the fuck out of there, Cartman tightened his grip. He pulled Kyle closer until they were a breath apart. He smelled like blood and sugar and surgery.

"If it doesn't work, we do things my way."

Kyle's knuckles were white under his grip, but the rest of him came alive. Gritting his teeth, he closed the gap between them until their foreheads knocked together with a dull thud. He could hear Cartman's chip hum, just as he could his own. This time, it was Kyle who smiled.

“You’re on fatass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve noticed when I write Stenny I use a lot of water metaphors. With Kyman it’s all fire. 
> 
> The next chapter should be up in the next few days. It's already mostly written. After that though it may be slower.  
> I’ve signed up for the Capri Big Bang because I’m the disloyal ho Chris warned you about.  
> I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

Kyle went to Hell’s Pass first thing the following morning. The doctor couldn’t have had many patients. He certainly wasn’t getting any positive reviews on Trip Advisor, because when Kyle stormed in with nothing more than a ‘where is that foreign fuck?” the receptionist knew immediately who he was talking about. No questions asked.

Stopping in front of the doctor’s office, Kyle forced a deep breath. He needed to appear collected and reasonable before he knocked at the door.

“It’s open!”

Closing his eyes, Kyle thought of whale sirens, waves on the shore, the gentle clatter of pebbles on a riverbed, and Eric Cartman’s twenty dollars. He stepped into the office. The doctor’s face lit up when he saw him. Kyle had always been crap at forcing smiles, but a neutral calm he could fake. Primed for a fight, he straightened his frame and approached the doctor’s desk.

He was a mess of a man, really. With a steadily greying nest for a beard, thin blonde hair like wires on his head, and clothes that looked like they’d been stored at the bottom of a closet for the past decade. He probably wasn’t even that old, but the wrinkles, the glasses and the beard, all aged him. He looked blanched, filtered even. The man could have been anywhere from 40 to 65 and Kyle wouldn’t have known. Wouldn’t have cared much either.

He forced himself to relax. ‘ _Reasonable’_ , he thought. ‘ _Twenty bucks’._ He thought that too. ' _Carrot over stick_ '. Sitting across from the man’s desk, Kyle looked him balefully in the eye.

“Doctor, you have to get this thing out of my head.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible son.”

Kyle tried to contain his frown to concern rather than full-out fury.

“You don’t understand. It’s malfunctioning.” That piqued his interest. Keeping his attention on Kyle, the doctor reached into his drawer and retrieved his notes. Cartman had guessed right. The folder was on top as if he’d been perusing it before Kyle walked in.

Kyle ignored how his heart sank through his rib cage as he suddenly remembered the way this guy had looked at him that first evening. He was still doing it now. Between glances at the file, he looked at Kyle as if appraising a prize race horse. In his eyes, Kyle saw all the things expected of him: funding, fame, security, and more of Cartman’s words filtered through his ears. _‘His life’s work’_. That’s what he’d had called them; Kyle and Cartman were his Golden Ticket. In that moment Kyle saw his money disappear like a twenty into a hobo’s cup.

“Malfunctioning how Kyle?”

“Cartman and I haven’t had a fight in a week but it’s still going off. Only it’s different from before. It’s constant… like a hum.”

“I see. Could I take a look please?” The doctor got to his feet, making his way around the desk. Kyle removed his hat reluctantly, and let his head be tilted to the side by hands slick with sweat. It made his skin crawl. The man had coffee breath.

Kyle glanced up at him. The doctor sounded not quite German. Was he Dutch perhaps? Austrian?

Kyle mulled it over, letting it distract him from the probing

“And what were you up to exactly these times it went off lad?”

No. Not Austrian.

“Nothing man. I was just eating lunch, in the locker room, normal stuff.”

“Were you with Eric?”

The way his voice bent on the ‘E’ suggested Scandinavian.

“He joined after,” Kyle said, twisting his head to get comfortable. “Look, I gotta level with you. We did try to get it out, but we set off some kind of defence thing. It’s been all screwy since.”

The doctor made more vowelled sounds of surprise. Definitely Scandinavian. He was pushing in now, and Kyle could feel the pressure of the chip as it seemed to sink into the skin even further.

“Don’t worry, the defence is perfectly normal.”

Kyle’s skin was heating up.

“What about the humming dude? That’s not normal.”

Flustered, Kyle shook the hands off his head and replaced his hat. The stale scent of coffee receded when the doctor stepped away. Returning to his desk, he looked once more to his writing.

“You said this humming happened before too?”

“Yeah.”

“Was this always with Eric present?”

“Sometimes, it happened a couple times where he wasn’t though, but I know for sure we weren’t thinking about each other.”

The doctor seemed to take his word for it.

“And those times… the locker room for example…what were you doing?”

Kyle spoke flatly.

“What do you think? It’s a locker room,” he shot out, but the doctor parried skilfully.

“What were you talking about?”

Fuck, he’d been hoping not to have to mention that.

“Look it was just guy stuff you know?” he said, unable to leave the frustration from his voice.

The doctor sat up with a smile. The kind of smile that said he knew exactly what ‘guy stuff’ was.

“Is it safe to assume that this ‘stuff’ as you say of a sexual nature?”

“It was... I mean yeah,” he said. Suddenly, Kyle was shifting in his seat. Words were echoing in his head like the tail-end of a movie.

_You’re saying you haven’t once lost control?’_

Kyle couldn’t meet his eyes. He rested his arms on his thighs, staring stubbornly into his interlaced fingers. The last time he’d had to talk about this stuff with a doctor had been that time they’d thought he was a sex addict. Or perhaps when they’d thought he’d taken it up the ass in some drug-driven HIV frenzy. Kyle couldn’t remember exactly, but thinking on it t _hat_ had been Cartman’s fault too. The humiliation flared up either way.

_‘Never wanted to own someone?_

_‘_ “Was it about you and Eric?”

 'D _ominate them?’_

He snapped out of it. Kyle stared at the man before him in horror.

“What?!” he exclaimed. “No way man. It was just about… like… hook ups that’s all.”

God, he wanted to die. This was all Kenny’s fault. Kyle brought his fingers to his temples and rubbed. His eyes fell shut in frustration, which was why he heard it before he saw. He didn’t care what kind of qualifications this guy had, the empathy was totally missing. This dickhole was laughing at him. Not a sweet chuckle either, but brazen, mocking, maddening laughter.

Carrot be damned. Kyle snapped.

“What the hell is so funny?”

Brushing aside a tear, the doctor tried to compose himself.

“My dear boy. There is no problem with the chip. It’s perfectly in order,” he said. When Kyle didn’t immediately leap across the desk to thank him, he calmed down to explain further. “You see the chip doesn’t just react to violence. It’s programmed to detect any elevated emotional response from anger to, well, excitement.”

Kyle couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Excitement?”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me this thing will go off when I think about sex?!” He was losing it again. “Are you insane? I’m seventeen. Of course, I’m thinking about sex!”

The doctor was so happy he may as well have been slobbering. Gesticulating wildly, he shook his scruffy head. When he next spoke, he did it in a slow, building way, presenting his words with the relish of a straight couple with a gender reveal cake.

“Ah yes, but it isn’t general. That would be impractical. The chip is programmed to react to an array of extremely specific cognitive responses. That is to say it operates with only one specific target in mind.”

Kyle’s hands were forgotten. So was his jaw in fact. He stared at the doctor, slacked mouthed and astounded.

“Don’t tell me…”

He didn’t want to understand it, but his brain caught up either way. It was like a part of Kyle’s mind woke up, one that he had _very_ specifically tranquilised the moment he’d caught Cartman’s eyes in that stupid, fucking locker room.

“I’m afraid so Kyle.” The doctor grinned, broadly, proudly. Kyle thought explicitly about killing him. “It would seem that you are sexually attracted to your friend Eric Cartman.” 

Kyle just stared as his stomach catapulted to his feet. It was no longer just his temple. His entire body was buzzing. Something like tears were stinging at his eyes.

There was a lump in his throat the size of a fucking planet. It tasted like bile.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

.

Kyle Broflovski wasn’t a virgin. Well, he was in the strictest sense of the word, but Emmanuel Lewis was in Brooklyn so who really gave a shit.

He had been on dates. He had been further. When asked about it, he would usually say that sometimes things happened and sometimes boys fell in love. It happened to Stan; it happened to Kenny; it happened to Butters every other week, so Kyle had followed that logic and assumed that given the right circumstances, it would eventually happen to him too. Sure, years had passed. His friends had had and lost girlfriends, and Kyle had stayed the same, but South Park had a small dating pool.

He wasn’t, as Cartman liked to say, saving himself for marriage or even necessarily love. Kyle was just waiting for a connection, even a physical one would have done him fine. When it happened, he just wanted it to matter.

This. Was not what he had in mind.

.

Kyle slapped the twenty into Cartman’s hand as soon as the front door swung open. He didn't look at him, couldn't bear to, and it was only partly because of the self-satisfied smug he knew he would find there.

"I don't care how. We  _have_ to get these out. _"_ Kyle snapped it like an order. Pushing him aside, he stormed into the house. He didn't have to look back to know that Cartman was at his heel. Climbing the stairs, he heard the creak of floorboards behind him. Kyle made it up to the second landing before remembering just who he had handed a carte blanche to. He turned around with a scowl before the words could sink in. Cartman was leaning against the banister expectantly. Kyle kept walking.

“One: We’re not killing anyone.” He stopped outside Cartman’s bedroom. Hands gripped furiously at his sides, he stared him down. “Two. Anymore black jokes, anymore Jew jokes, any- _goddamn_ -thing, I will find that scalpel and finish the job.”

Cartman grinned like- well like he’d just won twenty bucks. He was running the note down his skin now, moaning like a woman in a shampoo commercial. _'mmmmm Kyle's money_ '. It didn't need to be said. Kyle heard it anyway.

“You got it Sandy.”

Approaching him, Cartman purposefully moved so he was at his back when he opened the door. He moved with the flourish of a ringmaster displaying his lions. Bowing dramatically, he put his hand to the handle.

“Step into my office.”

 With a click and a smirk, the door slid open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down. Hope you had fun!


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